Mortal Heart

by Robin LaFevers

  Floris tosses the last of the quail bones into the fire and leans back, making herself comfortable. “Of course. If it cannot be settled by the clan leader, it is taken up with the high priestess and her council of priestesses on duty.”

  “And if that does not solve it? Say, if the priestesses could not all agree, or if they were overruled by the high priestess? What recourse would be available to the others?”

  Floris studies me closely. “Then we would put it to a vote and all of us would have a voice in the matter.” I ignore the dozen of questions shining in her eyes and turn my attention to my dinner. While I regret having to hint that there might be disagreement at our convent, it is most helpful to learn how others who follow the Nine solve such disputes.

  Over fifty of us ride out to engage the French, but in small groups of four or five each. Arduinna’s work is not about full-scale battle, but rather about protecting the innocents and the lowly that others are all too quick to destroy in the process of war.

  My heart is heavy that I am not doing my own god’s work, even as my spirits lift at the thought of finally putting my skills to use in the service of a god.

  I am also pleased that I fit right in with the Arduinnites who ride at my side. An observer would never know I was not one of them, or even the newest among them. Floris is leading our group, and besides me it contains Aeva, Tola, and another Arduinnite, Odila, who is nearly as old as Floris. Fortuna too fits right in with these mounts, the only difference being in the style of saddles used.

  We are not venturing into the city proper today. Instead, we are going to approach the outlying farms and homes in the hopes of protecting them from further scavenging and raids.

  The farmer whose cart Tola and Aeva returned said that the French had arrived four days ago and that yesterday was the first time they had come in search of food. It is our hope that other farms have not yet been ransacked.

  The first farm we pass is abandoned. Closest to the town, the family who lived here did not waste any time packing up all their belongings and livestock and moving on.

  The second farm is inhabited by a more stubborn fellow; he greets us with a pitchfork in one hand and a club of wood in the other. “Peace,” Floris says, holding up her hand. “We come only to be certain you are safe from the French.”

  “Just let them try and take my sheep. I didn’t keep them all through the winter to feed a bunch of French pigs.”

  Floris manages, just barely, not to smile. “We are glad to hear it. However, there are hundreds of them and only one of you, so if you have family you can go stay wi—”

  He spits off to the side. “I’ll not be chased off my own land. Who sent you?”

  “Arduinna, the patron saint of innocents.”

  “If that man is innocent, I’ll eat my bow,” mutters Aeva.

  In the end, we cannot convince him to go elsewhere, but at least he has no wife or children who can be harmed.

  As we draw closer to the French checkpoint, Floris motions Aeva and Odila to dismount. They leave their horses with us and creep forward, quickly disappearing in the brush beside the road. Tola nearly quivers in anticipation. Floris glances her way. “It will be your turn next time.”

  We listen carefully but hear nothing. Good. That means the soldiers will not hear them either. Nearly a quarter of an hour later, two muffled thumps disturb the silence, and a host of birds takes panicked flight. When no more sounds follow, Floris gives a nod of approval.

  It is not enjoyable, this crawling around in the brush, sneaking up on people unaware, and ambushing them. I much prefer how we who serve Mortain do it—by facing our victims and being certain they know full well they are being held to account. But this is war, and war has its own set of rules, for all that I did not study them.

  The next day our mission proves harder, for word of our ambush has been reported back to the French, and they have tripled the manpower at their checkpoints. But they do more than increase their sentries—they begin pillaging the countryside in earnest. We spot four different groups riding out in all directions, eager to find whatever food and provender they can before we block off their access.

  On this day I kill three more men, all of them French soldiers. I am grateful that the bow is Arduinna’s favored weapon, for it is easier for me to kill from a distance than up close, and I am glad that the sour sickness does not return to my belly with each kill.

  Well, not as strongly as the first time, anyway.

  We harry the French at every turn, disrupting their supply chains and forays for food, protecting the innocent when they are threatened, and recruiting the able-bodied to our cause.

  Floris is right: it is a good way to release some of the pain of Matelaine’s death. It is hard work, not only physically but mentally, for it requires patience and cunning to wait out the enemy, anticipate their actions, then organize others to act, others who are undisciplined and afraid—afraid of both the French and the Arduinnites, for they are the stuff of legends.

  In the following days, I kill seven more soldiers. None of them is marqued, but I do not feel the sick roiling in my gut like I did with the first one. While I never grow to love killing, I must admit that doing it before these men can harm others, whether by starving them or raping them or burning down their farms, feels justified, especially when there is no marque to guide me.

  It makes it easier still when they rush to attack us, for then the killing becomes a mere reflex of self-protection.

  On the tenth day, one of the Arduinnite scouts comes riding into camp and leaps from her horse before it has even come to a stop. “The Breton army has arrived!” she shouts, and a cheer goes up.

  It takes them a week, but the Breton troops, flying Marshal Rieux’s flag, are able to drive the French from Vannes. It is from those Breton troops that we learn that the duchess is no longer at Guérande. Indeed, she took her entire court with her to Rennes back in February.

  “Rennes,” I repeat stupidly. I could likely have reached Rennes simply by bearing directly north for three or four leagues, not even needing to worry about the bedamned French. Frustration at the futility of the wait fills me, and Floris and Tola look at me oddly.

  “Then I must go to Rennes. I will leave today.”

  Floris nods. “It is time.”

  Seeing my surprise at her easy acquiescence, Tola leans close to murmur in my ear. “She had another vision,” she explains.

  Floris lifts her head and peers off to the north. “Someone at the duchess’s palace has put out the sacred offering requesting Arduinna’s help, and we must honor it. Therefore, we will be traveling with you to Rennes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  FLORIS, AEVA, AND TOLA ACCOMPANY me only as far as the bridge that leads to the Rennes city gates. “Tell the duchess we have heeded her call and will aid her in any way we can,” Floris says. “We will await her instructions in our camp.”

  “You won’t come with me to the palace?”

  “No,” Aeva says. “We avoid cities whenever possible. They are too confining.”

  “We will pitch our main camp over there.” Floris points to the north, where the line of trees meets the valley. “The rest of our forces should be here in a few days.”

  “How will the duchess get a message to you?”

  Floris smiles. “Through you, of course. It is not as if we will be in hiding. You may come find us whenever you like.” She turns her gaze to the people entering and leaving the city, a great number of whom are soldiers. “Whenever there are this many troops around, there are sure to be innocents who need to be protected.” Her lip curls faintly in disgust. “You may be certain we will have plenty to keep us busy.”

  I bid them farewell and thank them for all their help. I cannot find the words to tell them it has been so much more than simply allowing me to travel with them. I feel as if they have opened my eyes to an entirely new way of being, of existing in a group, and it has given me much to think upon.

  I ha
ve grown accustomed to their company and feel nearly naked without them as I turn Fortuna toward the city. Her hooves thud hollowly across the wooden bridge.

  The city’s gray stone walls stretch out as far as the eye can see, like a mother’s arms keeping her children safe. Sentries and lookouts patrol the catwalks atop the walls, and guards stand at the gate itself. They are not stopping people going in or out, but their eyes are sharp as they scan the crowd for trouble.

  As well they should, for there are people everywhere. In truth, I never imagined so many could live in one place behind one set of walls. Or that they would want to.

  And Floris was right—the city appears to be overrun by soldiers. They outnumber the townspeople by five to one, at least. Most do not seem to be on duty but merely wander the streets in groups. There is a bored, restless air to the men that makes me wonder if the sentries should not train their sights on the inside of their walls rather than outside of them.

  I pull my thoughts away from the soldiers and take in Rennes itself. It is large and far grander than Vannes, although I saw little enough of that town, and in the poorest of circumstances. These cobbled streets are lined with shops and brightly painted two- and three-story timbered houses. The spire of a grand cathedral rises from the middle of the city like a beacon.

  My ogling draws the notice of others—well, that and my strange attire, for while I have thrown a skirt over my leggings, I am still dressed mostly in the manner of the Arduinnites. Three soldiers lounging near a smithy eye me, and I urge Fortuna down a different street before they can think to create mischief. While I would not mind fighting them, the whole place has the feel of a pile of kindling, and I do not wish to be a spark.

  When I approach the sentry at the palace, he gives me a lazy grin that I meet with a cool smile. “I am here to see the abbess of Saint Mortain.”

  I enjoy it more than I should when the grin drops from his face and he stands up straighter. “Your name?”

  “Tell her that Annith is here.”

  He nods curtly, motions a page over from the small cluster of boys who linger just inside the door, and gives him instructions. The page, a bright-eyed boy whose mischievous grin reminds me of Audri, makes a perfunctory bow, then hurries off into the interior of the castle. I am sent to the antechamber to cool my heels, and I try not to gawk and gape as if I have just rolled off the turnip cart.

  Sister Beatriz told us often of the grandeur we would encounter when our duties brought us to the ducal court, but, as I have learned again and again these past weeks, there is a difference between hearing about something and experiencing it. Sister Beatriz was no poet, so her words did not come close to painting the true picture.

  The antechamber alone is as big as our chapel and chapter house combined, and it is richly appointed, with bright, colorful tapestries that do much to absorb the chill that comes in through the main doors. The wood paneling is intricately carved, and I long to run my fingers over it to feel the rich texture of the wood.

  But even more dizzying is the number of people in the room, which is equal to the population of a small village. Over a dozen sentries and men-at-arms, a handful of pages, and clusters of well-dressed citizens and even more elegantly dressed nobles mingle about. This is the only thing Sister Beatriz did a fair job of preparing us for—the finery these nobles wear, for their garments are as brightly decorated and elaborate as she told us they would be. I also notice that most of them stand with their heads together, absorbed in tense conversation. Have they already heard of the French attack on Vannes? Or is there some other news that has them nervous?

  I see the page scampering back to us before the sentry does, his eyes wide, his brows raised. “Her ladyship says to send Annith along immediately. I am to escort her myself.” He says this last bit with no small amount of pride.

  The sentry casts a curious glance at me before nodding his head and ushering me on. I hurry to catch up to the page, who apparently does not believe in walking when scampering will do.

  Now that I am actually seconds away from facing the abbess, my palms grow clammy. I marvel that I have faced—and survived—the dangers of the hellequin and the French, and yet it is the thought of this conversation that makes my hands sweat. I will not give in to this fear.

  I have been blooded in my first battle, and my second and my third.

  I have lived now in the real world, with all its mess and turmoil, all its wildness and all its beauty, and I can never unsee what I have seen, I can never unknow what I now know. More importantly, something deep inside me has awakened, and now that I have moved through the world fully aware, it is impossible to let myself be lulled back to sleep. Perhaps that is why the abbess held me back. Perhaps, for some reason I cannot even begin to fathom, she was afraid of this very thing.

  After leading me down one main corridor, then another, the page comes to a stop in front of a thick oak door and raps smartly upon it. “It’s the Lady Annith, your ladyship.”

  “Send her in.” The abbess’s voice is clear as a bell, even through the door.

  “It’s Reverend Mother,” I whisper at him.

  He frowns at me. “What?”

  “A woman in her position is not called your ladyship, but Reverend Mother.”

  His cheeks flare pink for a moment. “Why didn’t anybody tell me?” With a snort of disgust, he shakes his head and trots off down the hall. I take a deep breath, put my hand to the door, and go in.

  The abbess is waiting for me in the chair behind her desk, sitting stiff and upright. Her face is pale, her nostrils pinched, the skin drawn tight across her fine features. Indeed, her barely checked fury has the weight and substance of a living thing. “Reverend Mother.” I execute a precise curtsy.

  She does not bother with the formalities. “What is the meaning of this, Annith? What are you doing here in Rennes?”

  “I have come to inform you that Matelaine is dead.”

  The pinched anger in her face does not soften. There is no flicker of surprise or remorse or sorrow. “While I am sorry to hear that, there was no reason for you to bring the news yourself. A message would have sufficed. You are simply using this as an excuse to avoid a duty you do not wish to perform.”

  The memory of Matelaine and her cold, still body lying on the hard wooden planks of the bone cart rises up, twisting my heart until it bleeds anew. My hands clench into fists and I shove them into my skirt so she will not see. “No. A simple message would not have sufficed, for I wanted to look you in the face when I accused you of being responsible for her death. It is because of your negligence and stubbornness that she is dead.”

  A gasp escapes her lips—one sharp intake of breath that lets me know my words have reached her. “What do you mean?”

  As the raw wound of Matelaine’s death reopens, all the hot, bitter pain comes flowing out. “You sent her out before she was ready. You knew it was too soon; Sister Thomine warned you. I warned you, but still you sent—”

  “Silence!” Her voice cuts through my words like a knife. She places both hands flat on the desk and pushes herself to her feet. “How dare you? How dare you come in here screeching like a fishwife, berating me!”

  I take a step toward the desk, enjoying the way her eyes widen in surprise. “I dare because Matelaine cannot do it herself. You have betrayed her, betrayed the sanctuary and trust between the convent and its novitiates, and I would know the reason why.”

  “Trust! Let us speak of trust and how you have disobeyed me outright. You have left the convent and your duties without permission. Have you given no thought to the others whom your actions might place in jeopardy? Have you given any thought at all to leaving the convent with no one to See Mortain’s will? It is I who accuse you of betraying my trust.”

  I dismiss her accusations with a curt wave of my hand. “I have no gift for Seeing and you know it. Why did you send Matelaine when she was not ready? What is the true reason you held me back?”

  The abbess closes her eyes
for a moment and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she is calmer, less angry. She smiles then, a coaxing, beatific smile. It feels as if she is casting out a sticky net, hoping to entrap me with her beguiling ways. But it is poisoned bait she offers—I recognize that now. “Dear Annith. While I admire your loyalty to those you care about, you must understand that as abbess, I have duties far above any one individual’s safety or comfort. I must use all the resources available in the best way possible to ensure Mortain’s will is done. You know that. It is just your disappointment and envy talking.” Her voice is gentle, sympathetic even, and it wraps itself around me in an attempt to lull me back to sleep.

  For a sharp, painful moment, I miss a world where everything made sense. “I was disappointed, envious even, but now that is only a small part of what I feel. By not sending me out when I should have gone, you have given me a role in Matelaine’s death, and to atone for that, I will see you held accountable for your deeds.”

  She is the first to look away. She tries to hide it in a gesture—she casts her hand wide, as if in exasperation, but her eyes shift, and I know this small victory is mine. “Do you truly think I treat the novitiates any differently than abbesses throughout the centuries have? Do you think the Dragonette would have flinched from using what tools were at hand?”

  “Your methods may be kinder, but what you have done is a betrayal all the same. At least with the Dragonette, we would not have been fooled by a false sense of kindness and regard. We were not tricked into believing she had our best interests at heart.”

  Except for me. I had been that stupid and blind, and even now, I still don’t know if the Dragonette cared for me more than the others or hated me beyond reason.

  The abbess’s lips press flat and her pupils grow small, two small black pinpricks in orbs of blue silk. “Is this how you thank me for all those years of kindness to you? For all that I have done on your behalf?”